


The Christmas Conundrum

by KingdomLights



Series: The Rivals [1]
Category: Figure Skating RPF, Olympics RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fake Dating, Holiday Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-28 04:23:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17175809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingdomLights/pseuds/KingdomLights
Summary: Four weeks before Christmas, Tessa Virtue's boyfriend dumps her without warning.Two weeks later, he shows up with someone new in his life.What's a girl to do when faced with going to the annual Sport Canada Gala, alone, knowing they would both be there?Well... sometimes you cry about it.Sometimes, you eat your weight in dairy.And sometimes... you suck it up and ask a rival coach - and your absolute worst nightmare - to go with you.Part 1 ofThe Rivals Series





	The Christmas Conundrum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [violetwreaths (gracesvirtue)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracesvirtue/gifts).



> Happy Holidays to one and all.
> 
> I've always been a sucker for an 'enemies to lovers' trope and curious about what it might have been like if Tessa and Scott had grown up with a slightly different relationship than they did. Don't get me wrong, I adore the one they've got! But there's nothing more fun that bickering and banter - especially at Christmas time - between two people who'd soon as murder one another than admit they might, just might, care way more than they let on.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

****_**i. Tessa**_

Tessa Virtue taps her skate against the mat - which doesn’t quite have the same effect as a pair of heels but still, it makes her feel better.

“Can I help you there? Do you need me to – uh – call a doctor for that twitch?”

She glares back at him, arms folded across her chest.

“You’re on my ice,” she says.

“I’m _not_ on your ice,” he replies, checking his watch. “I still have about… oh a minute or so.”

She purses her lips, resisting the urge to reach out and smack him.

“Are you _really_ going to be pedantic about this?” she asks.

“Well, I don’t know, Virtch,” he replies. “You’re the one trying to eat into our cross-over.”

“ _Moir_ ,” she sighs, her voice dripping with exasperation.

He puts his hands in the air.

“Hey, I’m just following the rules here,” he says. “Making sure _my_ skaters get _just_ as much time as yours.”

Tessa blinks.

“Your _skaters_ are not even on the ice, Scott!” she says. “They’re over there… _stretching_.”

Scott Moir looks down at his skates, scuffing his toe pick against the board. He checks his watch again, concentrating on the seconds ticking over.

“Are you _serious_?!” she says.

He grins.

“I am _always_ serious about ice time,” he says.

She leans over the boards – her nose coming within an inch of his – and glares up at him.

“Moir,” she says, tightly.

He doesn’t look at her – merely infuriates her further by continuing to stare at his watch - and she has no other choice but to join him in this farce.

The second the clock hits 4pm, he looks up and grins.

“Off!” she says.

_“Is something the matter?”_

Tessa and Scott turn and find Marie-France Dubreuil – effectively one half their boss - appearing at their side. She looks up expectantly between them.

“He won’t get off,” Tessa says.

Scott smirks.

“Well, I mean… it’s not really the place but -”

Tessa raises a hand in frustration, and Marie-France looks at him pointedly.

“Was that really necessary?” she says.

“No, Ma’am,” he replies. “But she does make it very easy.”

“Well, play nice – both of you,” she says. “Or I will re-think whether or not either of you can continue coaching here.”

“ _What_?” Tessa says, not quite believing her ears.

“We are all a team here at Gadbois,” Marie-France says. “And how we treat each other – even those we compete against – matters. You two should know this better than anyone.”

Scott nods while Tessa looks at her feet.

“Now, Scott,” Marie says. “I’m sure you have better things to do right now, so would you please let Tessa onto the ice?”

Scott smiles and Tessa has to admit, it’s very charming. She’d be lying if she said that it hadn’t – at one point or another – set butterflies off in her stomach. But that was a long time ago and she’d grown up a little since then – thank God.

“Of course,” he says, stepping onto the mat and gesturing sweetly toward the ice.

“Thank you,” Scott,” Marie-France says, with a beam, before heading – presumably - in the direction of her office.

Tessa places her skate guards neatly on the edge of the boards and steps out onto the ice.

Scott leans on his arms, still staring at her.

“What’s with the smile, Moir?” she says.

“Why? Is it doing anything for you?” he says.

Tessa rolls her eyes.

“It would be cute if I _didn’t_ know you,” she says.

“Ah man, I do love these special times we share together, Virtch,” he says. “Always such a pleasure.”

Tessa ignores him and strokes out onto the ice, doing several laps to clear her head while she waits for her group of skaters to do the same. She can feel his eyes on her, boring holes into her back – and she has half a mind to dust the board, jump just close enough to spray ice into his face…

But that would be petty.

And she’s not a petty person… she just… _really_ wants to punch Scott Moir in the face sometimes.

 _Rise above, Tess,_ she thinks. _You’re better than this. You have a date tonight… with the world’s most wonderful guy, the holiday season is upon you, and life… just can’t get any better._

* * *

  
Her foot finds his beneath the table and Tessa thinks this must be the first time she’s been to Restaurant Tandem and wanted to hurry through her meal in order to get home. Normally, she savours every gorgeous bite Pascal has to offer but right now, she’d rather savour something else entirely.

He smiles back at her.

It’s a lazy sort of smile, filled with suggestion and promise and Tessa wonders if there’s any real need to sample these Pleasure Black Truffles at $130 an ounce, when the real pleasure she needs is sitting right across from her.

She can feel it – she’s felt it all evening, all week really – ever since he surprised her with the reservation. He knows how much she loves it here, how much the artistry of this perfect little bistro appeals to her taste buds - and her aesthetics. She may not be able to cook great food _herself_ , but she can certainly appreciate it – and the atmosphere of this place, the genteel romance of it all, excites her to the point where she dares not get out of her seat – not even to pee – in case she misses it… interrupts it…

The Moment.

 

This is it.

It’s been a few years in the making, having dated a while back and recently reconnecting - and tonight…

Tonight, her life will change for ever.

Because tonight, Todd Lapointe – Habs power forward and all-around sweetheart – is about to propose.

He’s hidden it well, made it all through dinner talking about his day – asking her about hers, stopping, momentarily to sign an autograph. He was gracious about it, when the woman apologised for interrupting them and said it was for her daughter.

“No problem,” he’d said, before handing the woman her notebook with his slanted scrawl and smiling genially for a picture.

And then his eyes were back on hers, utterly devoted, while he reached for her hand, playing idly with her fingers.

She’d tried not to look down too much – at the finger a ring might be occupying later. She wanted to at least _appear_ surprised when he finally said the words.

Her pulse quickens – any moment now, she thinks.

He’s nervous - she knows it – and Tessa leans forward, in anticipation, her mind filled with promise and her body already preparing for the night ahead.

“Tessa?”

“Todd?” she says, her voice breathy and light.

“I have something to… something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about,” he says.

“Yes?” she replies, smiling encouragingly.

“It’s just that… we’ve known each other a long time,” he says, fumbling a little over his words.

“I know.”

“I can hardly believe it,” he says.

“This past year’s really flown by,” she says.

“And it’s been great,” he says.

She smiles again, the butterflies in her stomach dancing even more.

“It has.”

“And now…” he says.

“Yes?” she replies.

“And I know you must feel it too.”

“I do.”

“It’s time.”

“Yes, it is…”

“To go our separate ways.”

“I… wait… _what_?”

Todd looks at her, eyes wide with surprise, as if he can’t believe why his proposal – an entirely different kind of proposal, mind you – isn’t filling her with exuberance.

“I think we should break up,” he says, frankly, leaning back in his chair and spreading his palms.

“Are you… are you  _kidding_ me?” she says.

Todd rubs his nose with the back of his hand, suddenly looking sheepish.

“I – uh – thought you knew where I was going with this,” he says.

“Oh yes,” she says, her voice coming out more of a hiss. “That’s _exactly_ what I was thinking when you surprised me with a dinner invitation to one of my favourite restaurants and spent the evening wining and dining and playing footsie with me under the table!”

He shrugs a little and it’s the most irritating gesture she’s ever seen – and considering she works with one of the most annoyingly obstinate men on the planet – this is saying something.

“Tess, baby -”

“Oh _whoa_ , do _not_ call me _baby_ ,” she says, putting her finger in the air with a note of warning.

“Tess,” he says, by way of placation. “I’m sorry, I just… I figured it would be a good way to…”

“To _what_?”

“To say goodbye,” he says, lamely. “You know… for old time’s sake.”

Tessa looks down at the table, her mind swimming, searching for words that won’t cause others to look over and witness her relationship fall apart.

“Why?” she says, because it’s all she can manage right now.

“It just… it’s not working,” he says. “I’m always away, you’re always working… our schedules just don’t… they just don’t line up anymore. I mean, maybe if you weren’t coaching and you worked… I don’t know… from home or something or you did something a little more…”

Tessa blinks back at him, hardly believing her ears.

“What?” she says. “A little more suited to _your_ schedule?”

“Well,” he says. “Yeah!”

“Todd,” she says. “I have always, _always_ made time for you. Supported you. I’ve come to every home game. I’ve travelled to you when I could. You’ve _never_ complained and you’ve _never_ , until now, mentioned that it wasn’t enough.”

“Tess…” he says.

It comes out more of whine – like he’s embarrassed by her reaction to all of this – and he looks so uncomfortable, squirming in his seat like an eel suddenly yanked from the water and made to struggle on land.

“Don’t ‘Tess’ me,” she says.

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t expect you to react this way!”

“How _exactly_ did you expect your girlfriend _to_ react?” she says.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I just… I know I’m not exactly ready to settle down and… you are… and I just feel like when I get to that point, I’m going to need someone who…”

“Who what?”

“I don’t know… is _around_ more,” he says. “Someone I can show off.”

“Like a trophy?” she says.

“No! Yes. I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe.”

“Oh my God,” she says.

“I don’t mean to hurt you,” he says. “I just… I don’t want to spend our free time curling up on the couch. I don’t want to have to worry that you’re not having fun when we’re out or explain that you’ve had a tough day so you’re at home with a book. I don’t want to have to hold your hand when the press is around in case you get spooked, I just… I need someone who can handle all of that. Someone who puts me first. Someone a little more… spontaneous.”

Tessa stares at him, any and every ounce of confusion shifting well out of ‘sorry for herself’ and straight into anger. She nods, looking down into her lap, giving herself time to think.

“You want me to be spontaneous,” she says.

“I knew you would understand,” he says, looking a little relieved that she hasn’t started yelling.

Tessa reaches down, picks up her purse and swings it over her shoulder.

“Where are you going?” he says.

She signals to the maître d'.

“Could you get me my coat, please” she says. “I’ll be leaving now.”

“Tess, come on, what are you doing?”

“I’m giving you spontaneous,” she replies, grabbing the plate of truffles and dumping them into his lap.

“Tess,” he says, irritably.

“I’m not done,” she says, lightly, picking up the jug of iced-water in the center of the table and holding it high, before tipping its contents directly over the ruined truffles.

“Are you fucking kidding me!” he says.

Tessa ignores him, setting the pitcher down, taking her coat from the waiter and marching out the door. She walks fast, her heels doing their best to cope with the pace as she heads down Villeray. She waves a cab down, throws herself inside and spits out her address before collapsing against the cool, leather interior and closing her eyes.

She let’s out a breath, trying to run it all over in her mind, replaying every minute of the night… and every moment of the last sixth months. How could she have not seen this coming?

Tessa has never felt more of a fool – and she’s a goddamn Olympic figure skater! You only _get_ as far as she has by falling a hundred-thousand times in front of coaches, in front of competition, in front of the world.

But this was different.

This was her heart getting wrecked, being ripped out of her chest, by a guy she was sure… was the one.

She sighs, willing the cab to drive faster and just get her home.

She wants a bath, filled to the brim with bubbles and essential oils. She’ll light a dozen candles and burn every last feeling from tonight right down to the wick. She’ll lay in the tub, blast Joni Mitchell, and curse his name three times before banishing any further thought about him in her apartment.

That’s what she’ll do.

 _Or_ -

she’ll drown her feelings in a pint of rocky-road before lying down on the kitchen floor in her underwear and crying until morning.

Either way works.

Maybe… just maybe…

… she’ll even do both.

* * *

  
Her bath is ready – beyond luxurious – and she can’t wait to sink herself into its warmth and ease the tension building in her temples.

She checks her phone, on the off-chance that he’s _actually_ called – either to say he’s sorry, to retract it all, or to tell her he’s not good enough for her anyway and that all men are garbage and really, she should know better.

But no.

There’s nothing.

No calls, no texts.

Just silence.

 

The silence says it all.

 

“Right,” she says, grabbing the Bluetooth speaker and setting it down near the tub. “Bath!”

She picks up her book – for when her thoughts settle as the salts soothe her skin - and thumbs through her Spotify playlists to find something suitable enough to kick Todd Lapointe right out of her head - and heart – so that when she wakes up tomorrow, she can face the day without getting lost in her own introspection.

She can’t afford that right now. 

It may be the holidays, but her teams still needed work and she had a hell of a lot to do before she goes home for the holidays – not the least of which was attending Sport Canada’s annual Gala. It’s an event she has attended many times over the years, the opportunity to raise money and promote the sport she’d dedicated most of her life to, being one she couldn’t resist. This year it was being held, here, in Montréal and although she knew that many sports personalities would come from far and wide across the country, she had no doubts whatsoever that Todd would be among them. If she was going to appear in public in the same space as he was, within weeks of their break-up, she damn well needed to look like she hadn’t fallen apart.

So.

She’ll give herself just one night of crying.

Just one night to feel sorry for herself and maybe throw her fists into a couple of pillows.

But tomorrow – tomorrow she picks herself up, gets back to work, and faces the world like the warrior she is.

For now, though… now she can –

 

_Sigh._

There’s laughter in the hallway – lots of it.

High-pitched giggling followed by a series of low chuckles.

A thump against the wall outside her door… more giggling… some shushing.

Tessa rolls her eyes.

_No._

She presses herself up against the door, casting her eye through the peephole, spying her neighbour backing up to his door, one finger pressed against his lips.

The girl he’s with is tiny and blonde, her bean-pole legs shooting straight down from underneath her skirt. He plants his lips on her mouth, grabs her ass - the fabric of her skirt riding up beneath his hand - and Tessa gets a flash of a little too much of something she doesn’t want to see right now. Her fault for looking, she guesses, but still – if _she_ has to be miserable, she certainly doesn’t want anybody around to tell her that not everybody is living the life of the rejected, _especially_ if that someone lives next door and shares a very thin wall with her apartment.

She pushes herself away, giving a growl of frustration, before she storms off towards the tub, strips off her gown and lowers herself in.

It’s heavenly – even if she does want to sink her head beneath the surface and scream.

_  
Thump. Thump. Thump._

_Giggles._

_Sigh._

She turns the volume up a little higher.

 _Happy people are the worst_ , she thinks.

Whatever went thump – shoes? A purse? Brain cells? – it seems to have quietened down, and Tessa rests her head back and closes her eyes, filling her soul with words she needs right now.

 

_It's coming on Christmas_

_They're cutting down trees_

_They're putting up reindeer_

_And singing songs of joy and peace_

 

_“A HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!”_

The sound of raucous laughter vibrates off the wall and Tessa wonders how anyone _that_ small could make a noise _so_ loud. It’s followed by another and another and she blinks rapidly in its direction, trying to work out what on earth could be _that_ funny. Was he doing magic? Doing press-ups with his chin? _Nobody_ was that funny.

The laughter intensifies – wild cackles that pierce straight through her ear and nearly send her shooting out of the tub. She dries off her hand and reaches out to increase the volume on the speaker.

 

_He tried hard to help me_

_You know, he put me at ease_

_And he loved me so naughty_

_Made me weak in the knees_

 

Thump. Thump. Crash. Giggles.

Oh, for the love of –

_  
Thump._

_Thump._

_Moan._

_“Oh, yes.”_

  
“Oh, hell, no!” Tessa says, turning the volume all the way up now, singing along with the lyrics and trying not to listen to… that.

 

_Oh I wish I had a river_

_I could skate away on_

_I'm so hard to handle_

_I'm selfish and I'm sad_

_Now I've gone and lost the best baby_

_That I ever had_

 

_“Oh, God, yes, baby, right there.”_

Tessa presses the heels of her palms against her head and sings louder.

 

“OH I WISH I HAD A RIVER!”

_“Mmmm, ohhhh.”_

“I COULD SKATE AWAY ON!”

_“Yes!”_

“I WISH I HAD A RIVER SO LONG!”

_“Oh God! Oh God! Oh God”_

“I WOULD TEACH MY FEET TO FLY!”

_“Yes! Yes! Yes! Fuck! Ah!”_

“OH I WISH I HAD A RIVER!”

_“Ahhhhh!”_

“I MADE MY BABY SAY GOODBYE!”

_“Ahhhhohhhhh.”_

Tessa uncovers her ears and pauses with her arms still in the air.

Silence.

 _Oh thank, God,_ she thinks, before turning her music down low.

Her bath is ruined, and she really doesn’t want to lie here any longer just in case they decide to use the wall for round two, so she gets up out of the tub and dries herself off, making her way into the kitchen for that pint of ice-cream. She takes _it_ and the spoon through to her bedroom, throwing on an old t-shirt and a pair of cotton panties, before eating a couple more scoops.

Collapsing back against the sheets, she tries not to think about the fact that she should be spending the evening pretty much being seen to in much the same way as the petite blonde next door.

She closes her eyes, adrenaline wearing off and fatigue setting in, drifting off in to what she hopes will be a dreamless sleep…

…

_Thump… Thump… Thump…_

Her eyes fly open.

_Thump… Thump… Thump…_

How long had she been out?

_Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump._

“Are you _kidding_?” she says, none too quietly.

_Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump._

Moaning.

Tessa sits up, twisting around, grabbing a pillow and chucking it at the wall.

_Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump._

_“Oh! Oh! Oh God!”_

Tessa throws her legs over the side of the bed and storms off into the living room. Her playlist is still running, and she cranks up the volume, determined to make a point.

“Are you murdering her?” she mutters. “Because that’s what it sounds like.”

Seriously. Nobody needs to be that loud.

“He is not  _that_ good,” she says, staring daggers toward her bedroom.

Their shared wall _thumps_ in reply.

She jumps up on the kitchen counter, her pint now a verifiable milkshake, and she tips her head back, bringing the container to her lips.

Her playlist shuffles from Halsey, to Enrique, to Swift and she shouts out the words at random, erratic moments, ignoring the moans coming through from next door.

“I CAN’T LIIIIIIVVVVVE, IF LIVIN’ IS WITHOUT YOOOOOU. I CAN’T LIIIIIIIIIVE – I CAN’T LIVE ANY-MORRRRRE…

I CAN’T LIIIIIIIIIVE YEAH IF LIV -”

It doesn’t matter to her, at this point, what her neighbour must think – clearly her serenading is not bothering his own performance one little bit. It’s certainly not the first time she’s heard him… entertain… just like it’s not the first time he’s heard her singing along to music – although usually she is a little more respectful about volume but she’s busy making making a point right now and dammit if she isn’t going to make him listen to her _make_ it.

Hm… I probably shouldn’t have opened that bottle of wine, she thinks, as she tops up her glass and waits for her solo -

  
“YOU CUT ME OPEN AND I

KEEP BLEEDING

I KEEP KEEP BLEEDING LOVE

I KEEP BLEEDING I KEEP KEEP BLEEDING LO-”

 

_Bang!_

_Bang!_

_Bang!_

Definitely a fist hitting the wall there.

“Okay,” Tessa says, grinning and pointing her spoon toward her bedroom. “ _Now_ we’re getting somewhere!”

She turns the volume down – the moaning has finally stopped. Likely, they’ve finished, and the banging on the wall was his way of saying “shut the fuck up.”

She raises her eyebrow in his direction and wishes he would do the same.

Well, she can’t sleep now – not if that’s going to be going on all night. They share a bedroom wall, and although, she’s certainly heard him… before… she’s not in the mood to put up with it tonight. So, she drags her bag of gifts and some wrapping paper through to her living room. Hopefully by the time she’s finished, he will have exhausted his latest hookup and put her in a cab (they never spend the night) and she can get on with the business of sleeping and being entirely miserable.

Tessa picks up her phone, switching over her playlist to something festive and cheery, before spreading the paper out onto the floor.

When the moans start up again, so does her music volume, and she smirks, feeling entirely satisfied with herself.

Twenty-six minutes later, there’s a knock on her door.

She sighs and checks the time. There’s only one person it could be right now.

Tessa looks through the peephole and sighs, before opening the door.

 

“What the _fuck_ , T!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Scott” she replies. “Was I being _loud_?”

 

His eyes are drawn downwards, to her t-shirt and the bare legs beneath them, before brushing straight past her into her living room.

“Oh please,” she says, dryly. “Make yourself at home.”

Scott walks over to the speaker and switches it off.

“Do you _mind_?” she says.

“Do _you_?” he says.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean there,” she says, folding her arms across her chest and staring back at him.

“I _mean_ , that when the angels said, ‘Oh Come All Ye Faithful’, I don’t think this is _exactly_ what God had in mind,” he tells her.

Tessa smirks, eyeing his back-to-front T-shirt and rumpled hair.

He follows her gaze and tries his best to flatten it down.

“What’s _next_?” he says. “Another butchered version of _All By Myself_? You’re killing my mood here, Virtch.”

“Well if it’s _any_ consolation,” Tessa replies. “It doesn’t seem to have hurt your performance one way or the other.”

Scott stares at her.

“Well that just flew right over your head, there, didn’t it? Where’s Lapointless, tonight, anyway?” he says. “Shouldn’t you be out with _him_? Didn’t you have some big night planned?”

Tessa tries to hold his gaze, but he has too good a read on people to miss the way she falters. She continues to stare back at him anyway, not daring to appear weak.

He nods in understanding, wrinkling his nose, and rubbing it with his hand.

“I’ll – uh – we’ll try to keep it down,” he says, softly this time.

“Thank you,” she replies, finally looking away. “Maybe a sock? I’ve got a scarf you can borrow?”

He barks out a laugh and she looks up in surprise, startled by his response.

“I’ll – uh – suggest it,” he says, giving her a smile. “See you tomorrow?”

“Unfortunately for me.”

He grins.

“’Night Virtch.”

“Goodnight, Scott.”

* * *

  
She spends the next two weeks diving into her work.

Between the rink, her sponsors, and last-minute prep for Christmas – Tessa doesn’t have much time to think about her break up with Todd. Either that, or she’s aggressively ignoring the fact that they’ve broken up at all.

She hasn’t told anyone yet and she’s pretty sure she’s going to get a rap on the knuckles from her sister if she doesn’t do so soon, but honestly? The thought of going home to her Mom, and her brothers and their families, to Jordan and her long-time beau, and having to explain to them that she is newly single, while they look on with sympathy, is far too much for her to deal with this holiday season.

So far, the only person who knew anything, was Scott, and he’d been his usual charming self. And by “charming”, she means it’s a minor miracle she hasn’t taken off her skates and lobbed them at his head.

The man had spent many years mapping out each and every one of her buttons and there is nothing he enjoys more than finding one of them to push.

Fortunately, in this case – and as irritating as it is – it’s also distracting her from the very real act of feeling anything right now. If she’s focusing all of her energy swatting away the annoyance of Scott Moir, then she’s not thinking about the fact that she was dumped… four weeks before Christmas.

She steps off the ice, grabbing her skate guards and covering her blades, spending a minute just leaning over the boards. It’s safe here – the only place where the outside world doesn’t matter – and she closes her eyes, breathing it in.

She can feel someone settling in beside her, and she turns her head to find Patrice smiling amiably. She smiles back, hoping this wasn’t a prelude to a lecture about Scott. Marie-France had caught them bickering in the parking lot two days ago and given them a long look - she prays she hasn’t now sent her partner (and husband) to tell her she’ll be losing her _job_ too. Tessa’s not sure why she thinks _she_ might be the one to go, only that Scott’s been here longer, and he and Patch are close.

“A good day,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets and bobbing his head.

Tessa blinks. Should she just start telling him that Scott started it? That if he would just stop _deliberately_ parking within an inch of her door so that she doesn’t have to flat-iron herself just to get into her _own_ car then maybe she wouldn’t have been huffing at him… or trying to retrieve his keys out the pocket of his joggers so that she could move his damn car by herself.

Patrice puts a hand onto her shoulder, patting up and down, leaving Tessa more and more confused.

“I am sorry,” he says.

 _Oh boy_ , Tessa thinks.

“I know it must be painful now,” he says. “But with the dawn, a new sun always rises.”

_Eh?_

“I’m sorry?” Tessa says.

“I have no doubt,” he continues, as if she hadn’t spoken. “That you will find that someone special again.”

Tessa watches him go, continuing his meandering along the boards, her face scrunching up in confusion. She sits down on one of the plastic seats, and switches her skates out for her runners, before grabbing her phone, thinking she might give her mom a quick call. She stares at the screen, her wallpaper covered by a half dozen notifications.

All from Jordan.

All in capslock – the summary of which read: CALL ME.

Tessa thumbs through them all, the sudden prickling on the back of her neck having nothing to do with the cold air coming off the ice.

There’s an alert for Todd further down – she really must remember to switch those off – but she hits it anyway, curiosity (and old habits) getting the better of her.

She’s confronted with his image: a high-res photograph of him with his arm around a woman, looking at each other with – what her niece would call – love hearts. She’s leggy and tan and her waist seems so tiny that Todd’s hand covers the length of it. There’s another, smaller image, just to the right of that one – the pair looking pretty intimate in the back of a car.

The pictures are not the worst of it though and her eyes are drawn down further, stuck on the headline below them:

_Todd Lapointe and new fiancé step out together at Habs Holiday Social._

Todd Lapointe and _what now_?

She clicks on the article, casting her eyes over the text, trying to glean whatever information she could from the mess of words shouting out at her.

_How?_

_What?_

_When?_

They only broke up two weeks ago, how could he be…

No. He wouldn’t have…

She reads the article through once more, slowly this time.

_“Lapointe and Ms. Duke met ten days ago at a…”_

Ten _days_?

She shakes her head and tries to find her place again.

_“… seems fast but the two swear it was love at first sight and hope to be married in the Spring. In the meantime, the couple are looking forward to attending this year’s Sport Canada Holiday Gala, an annual fundraiser that…”_

Tessa tosses her phone onto her gear bag - she doesn’t want to read any more of it.

Todd’s getting married.

Correction.

Todd’s getting married to a woman he met _ten days ago_ , who is now – apparently – the love of his life.

_How is this happening?_

Did she slip into an alternate dimension while she was sleeping?

How could _he_ – how could _anyone_ – meet someone and decide within two weeks, that they should be getting married? She’s had brussel sprouts in her refrigerator longer than that!

She closes her eyes, briefly, thinking about the last year with Todd.

 

What did that say about _them_?

 

“Oh God,” she says, suddenly.

The Gala.

He’ll be there.

He’ll be there when she’ll be there.

He’ll be there when she’ll be there, and he’ll be with his new fiancé while she’ll be there with…

She needed a date.

She needed more than a date.

She couldn’t show up to the gala with a hasty plus one who decorated her arm but did little else.

Todd would see right through that. She needed someone who would… I don’t know… make him see that she’d moved on… that she was happy… she needed someone who would grab her ass and make it look good… someone who would prove that she was out there having fantastic sex too. And then she needed that someone to leave her alone the following day so that she could eat pizza in her pyjamas, watch Love Actually, and cry about her existence. Someone like…

_No._

_Oh, no._

Scott Moir strokes out in front of her, looking for all the world like he’s God’s damn gift to the ice. He does a few laps, grinning to himself, before heading into a backward glide and lining himself up for a single axel. He jumps and whoops, and Tessa’s reasonably sure she’s never seen a grown man so excited about ice before. She keeps one eye on him, trying to weigh up the pros and cons of scraping the bottom of this particular barrel.

He’s well-known.

_He’s annoying._

Well-respected.

_The literal bane of your life._

He’s attractive…

_Sure, if you like that sort of floppy-haired, strong armed kind of look._

She watches the way the folds of his shirt cling to his skin, revealing the spread of muscles beneath.

He’ll clean up nice.

And, she reasons, at the end of the night, he’ll drive her home with zero expectations and maybe… just maybe she could think about asking him to look at her pipes.

_Ahem._

Actual pipes.

 _Where did_ that _thought come from?_

She’s been meaning to get a plumber in for a few weeks now…

“Uh – Virtch?”

“What?” she says, suddenly, hoping her cheeks didn’t look as warm as they felt.

“Something I can help you with there?” he says, staring back at her with amusement.

“No,” she says, hotly.

Scott raises an eyebrow.

“Yes,” she says, albeit reluctantly.

_No._

“Well… colour me intrigued,” he says, jumping up onto the boards and grinning back at her. “What’s on your mind?”

“Well – um - it’s just…”

_No._

It’s not happening.

She is not about to ask Scott Moir out on a date.

 

She has standards.

His eyebrow shoots up again.

 

Does she though?

* * *

  
_**ii. Scott**_

“Let me get this straight,” he says. “You want me to…”

He watches the way she folds her arms across her chest, as if the action will mask the discomfort coming off of her in waves.

“You heard me the first time,” she says, tightly.

“Yes, but, you see,” he says, with a lop-sided smile. “What I _heard_ was that _you_ need someone to accompany you to the Sport Canada gala and _then_ I heard you ask _me_ , so, _either_ we’ve just entered the Twilight Zone or I’m going to need you to say that _again_ because obviously… I need to get my hearing checked.”

Tessa sighs.

“Never mind,” she says, stalking off along the boards.

“Hey, whoa! Wait a minute, wait a minute, wait a minute!” he says, skating alongside her, and leaping out onto the mats just ahead of her.

Her arms have crossed her chest again and she’s doing everything she can to avoid looking at him.

“Just… give me a clue here,” he says, reaching out to touch her arms before thinking better of it.

She doesn’t miss the gesture, and he wonders if the sudden increase in her pulse – the quick rise and fall in her chest - is because of that, or because she’s mad at him.

“Sorry, Nancy Drew,” she says. “I’ll figure something else out.”

She tries to duck past him but he’s quick – even in his skates – and his hand lands on her shoulder, bringing her to a stop.

Tessa looks from his hand to his face, her eyes dark and thunderous.

“Just… slow down, okay?” he says, removing his hand from her arm (just in case she decides to laser it off). “I’m sorry, alright. I’m listening. You need someone to go with you to the gala.”

“Yes,” she says, quietly.

“Like a date.” he says.

“Like a…” she sighs. “Yes.”

“How do you know I’m not going already?” he asks. “I, too, was a once _brilliant_ Olympian you know?”

“Modest too,” she says, with the hint of a smile.

He grins and wiggles his eyebrows, waiting for her reply.

“I remember you telling Patrice last month that you’d been invited, but that it would probably clash with a family thing,” she says.

“Eavesdropping on my private conversations, I see,” he says, with a wink.

“We were in line at Starbucks,” she says.

“We were?”

“You were in _front_ of me.”

“I was?”

“You tried to flirt your way to a free blueberry muffin?”

“I did?”

She sighs again.

“Never mind,” she says, this time managing to duck around him and make her escape.

“T!” he says, hobbling after her. “T, wait! Just…”

He stops to tug at his laces with both hands, throwing off his skates, before chasing after her in his socks.

“Virtch, come on!” he says. “Wait!”

She stops. Her arms – yep there they go again – folding across her chest.

“Can I ask… why?” he says.

“Why, what?” she says.

“Why do you want me to go to this thing with you?” he replies. “We’ll only drive each other nuts, you know this.”

“I…”

She pauses, and her expression intrigues him.

“Because Todd is getting married.”

“Married.”

“To someone named Brittany.”

“Her name is _Brittany_?”

“Yes, why?”

“I don’t know, it’s just such a puck bunny name,” he says. “Continue.”

“Yes, well, they’ll _be_ there.”

“And, you don’t want to go alone?”

“Yes… no.”

Scott blinks, his nose wrinkling in confusion.

“I need someone to kind of… rub him the wrong way,” she says, quietly.

Scott can’t help but smile.

“And you… have a way of doing that,” she says.

“I’m not sure whether to be offended or flattered,” he says, looking up and stroking his chin.

She smiles, her head ducking down with it and softening the tension in her features.

He likes it, he decides.

“I would like to give you,” she says. “The chance to get one over on a guy who – hockey loyalties aside – you’ve always… let’s say… disagreed with.”

Scott smiles.

“I’m listening,” he says.

It’s true he’s never liked the guy – nothing to do with his hockey, or his relationship with Tess (or so, he’s told himself) – and they’ve had a few not-so-friendly run-ins when circumstance has called for it.

“And you get to do that,” she says. “By taking his ex-girlfriend _to_ – and _home_ – from the event.”

He grins.

“Park that look, buddy,” she says.

“So – uh – what’s the protocol here?” he says. “I mean, it’s you, so I’m assuming there’s gotta be rules.”

She bites her lip, thinking it through.

“You can feel me up, but you can’t take anything off,” she replies.

He chuckles softly.

“Deal,” he says.

“That easy?” she replies.

“I get to spend an evening pissing off Lapointless?” he says. “I’m in.”

Tessa laughs softly.

“Thank you,” she says.

“No problem,” he replies, thinking, if anything else, he gets to spend the evening with a beautiful woman who might just let him borrow her fondue fountain.

 _No, that’s not a euphemism,_ he thinks. He promised his nephews he’d get one for the holidays and just hadn’t got ‘round to it yet.

Tessa snaps her fingers in front of his face.

“Hello,” she says. “Earth to Scott! You okay in there?”

“Yeah,” he says, quickly. “Just – uh – thinking about what to wear.”

She raises an eyebrow at him.

“I’ll stop by later,” she says. “We can coordinate.”

“Ah, yes,” he says, with another suggestive wiggle. “A little pre-event rehearsal, yes?”

“Not on your life, Moir,” she says.

“Right,” he replies, mock seriously. “PDA _allowed_ , try not to take her clothes _off_.”

Tessa whacks him on the chest, readjusts her gear bag, and heads for the door.

He grins.

“You – uh – _do_ know I can get a hell of a lot done with clothes _on_ , right?” he says.

* * *

 

Look, he’s not _that_ guy. He’s not a petty guy.

He _hasn’t_ always made the right decisions; hasn’t always done right by the girls he was dating and he’s sure as hell done his fair share of shit things and deserved the flack he got for them.

But he _does_ try to be a decent guy.

He has a big heart, a lot to give, and he hopes he’s done enough genuinely good things in his life that anyone he’s actually wronged, doesn’t think of him from time-to-time and zone in on that one moment of stupidity and assume it’s the sum of his parts.

He gets along with everybody – well – almost everybody, but his relationship with the Virtch is off the table for discussion and not anyone else’s business but their’s. Even Patch and Marie drive him nuts about it sometimes.

From the outside – yes it must seem strange to some people – but it’s not his job to make people feel comfortable about it. He and Tess had been ribbing each other since they were kids, they had a long history together, and quite frankly, he’s sick of people pressing him about it or telling him to go easy on her. If he backed off – even a little – she’d swoop in and nail him. She gives as good as she gets and there isn’t anyone else on the planet who knows him better than she does.

It’s how she knew he’d be the right guy for the job – somebody she knows, somebody who could handle himself in a crowd, somebody who could get in close, create a little heat and drop her off at the end of the night without feeling used.

It doesn’t bother him at all.

To him, it’s no different to her borrowing a stick of butter – and him teasing her about how to use it.

What does bother him, is Lapointe.

He’s known the guy longer than Tess, and they’ve never seen eye-to-eye. I mean sure, a lot of that comes down to the fact they share a mutual ex – a speed skater from the States – a fact that Lapointe likes to bring up _repeatedly_ (not that Tess has ever been around to hear it because he was too busy playing the all-around good Canadian guy in front of her) in order to imply that Scott somehow stole her out from under him.

For the record, he hadn’t. There’d just been some cross-over hang ups in their relationship that ultimately caused Scott to nope out of that one, and even though he’d long-since put that behind him, whenever he was around Todd Lapointe, the guy couldn’t help but pull out the jab.

Scott’s no fool, he knows why the guy does it and it has absolutely nothing to do with the past and everything to do with the now. He can’t stand the fact that – as much as they drive each other crazy – Tessa spends more of her day with Scott than she ever would with him.

Scott being her neighbour hadn’t helped things either.

But it’s not something he’d ever tell Tess.

If Lapointe wanted to tell her he was jealous, that was _his_ problem, the fact that he never did, wasn’t Scott’s.

As far as he was concerned, he could have happily gone on living his life never giving the guy another thought. You can’t like everyone, but you can be an adult about it, and not let it ruin your day – or let the other guy know just where he could shove his hockey stick. Scott’s not stupid, and he’s not exactly about to advertise the fact that his dislike for the guy increased exponentially, the minute he’d started dating Tess.

* * *

  
“Okay, if this is gonna work,” he says. “You’re going to have to _actually_ let me touch you.”

She sighs next to him.

“Fine… just… keep your hands where I can see them.”

The gala is in full swing: Live music, an open dance floor, the all-you-can-eat buffet, and a sea of sporting talent intermixing across the space.

Scott thinks Tessa managed pretty well right through dinner – although he noticed she hardly touched anything on her plate. Every time she brushed up against him - by reaching for a glass or handing him a napkin, he could feel her skin vibrating with nervous energy. He doesn’t think it’s anything anyone else would notice but he’s finely tuned to Tess and he doesn’t miss the way her muscles keep clenching and unclenching.

“Hey,” he whispers, leaning in to her ear and reaching one arm around her back, settling it on her hip. “I know this goes against every instinct you had as a kid when you were forced to pair up with a partner who had two left feet but… why don’t you let _me_ lead for a while, eh?”

She turns her head towards him, her eyes trying to seek out something in his. Reassurance, perhaps? It’s hard to tell because he’s terribly distracted by their depths.

It’s been a while since he’d been here long enough in her space and if he’s not careful, if he keeps on staring into those eyes, he’s in very real danger of getting lost in them. They match her gown, and fuck if it’s not the most beautiful combination he’s ever seen. When he’d knocked on her door and she’d stepped out of her apartment, he’d been rendered temporarily mute by the sight.

He’d seen the frown – that little crease of uncertainty between her brow – where she’d wondered if she looked alright. He’d nodded and smiled, he’d told her she cleaned up nice and she’d grinned back at him, relaxing into his arm. And as they walked to the elevator, he tried not to think about the many, many ways he wanted to get lost in those folds.

She frowns at him now, trying to gauge if she can trust him to take care of this – take care of her, really – and he smiles easily, catching sight of Lapointe across the room and leaning in a little further, his lips brushing up against her ear.

“Smile,” he says.

“What?” she murmurs.

“That little thing you do when someone compliments you – tucking a piece of hair behind your ear,” he says. “Do it. Bonus points if you can blush on cue.”

She smiles, her face turning into his a little more, and she does as he asks, before looking up to meet his eyes, her nose nudging his quite by accident.

The flush creeps in fairly easily - brought on by proximity or contact - he isn’t sure which, but he sure as hell doesn’t care either because Todd Lapointe is watching and it’s making the guy squirm.

He thinks, briefly, that maybe he _is_ that guy – the petty kind – before he remembers that Tessa fully expected to spend the rest of her life with the guy across the room, a guy who dumped her – with a fair amount of ceremony -  telling her he wasn’t ready to commit, before sounding out wedding bells two weeks – _Jesus_ – later, with a woman he’d only just met.

Scott could tease the Virtch about a lot of things, but not about this.

She was hurting and if he could do even a little bit to ease that – and maybe get one up over that Habs douche – then he _would_.

 

Gladly.

 

He turns her toward him, his fingers pressing gently into her hip.

“I’m going to put my hand in the curve just above your ass and we’re gonna go dance, okay?”

Her lip twitches.

“You always know _just_ what to say to a girl, Scott,” she says, stepping alongside him and allowing his arm to sweep across the skin of her back, before his hand relaxes neatly against her posterior.

He smiles and thinks maybe Tessa Virtue could be petty too.

* * *

 

The inevitable happens, the circle of social necessity bringing them all into an orbit of undesired conversation.

Scott, with practiced air – born of being one of the youngest boys in a very large family – finds the entire situation hilarious: Lapointe – grinding his teeth, with his obvious discomfort, and his newly-minted fiancé who (upon closer inspection) _cannot_ be more than twenty-two, prattling away about how pretty the lights are, oblivious to the fact that guy standing beside her couldn’t give a fuck about Christmas trees right now.

Scott almost feels bad for her – she doesn’t seem to know what on earth she’s stepped into and she _clearly_ doesn’t know who Tessa is.

Tessa – for her part – seems to be taking it in stride, leaning into him a little whenever she needs a bit of extra support.

“So,” Brittany says, looking at him with an air of excitement, as if there was no better day than today. “What do _you_ do? Do you play hockey too?”

Lapointe looks apoplectic.

“No,” Scott replies, easily. “I’m a figure skater… well… former now, I guess. Now I coach.”

He senses the hesitation – as he does with most people who don’t understand the demands of the sport – as she tries to calculate what little she knows about figure skating and match it up with what she can see of the man in front of her.

Scott’s not offended, and he knows that his body is in better shape than most of the people in this room – Lapointe’s included (not that he’s looking to score any points here, of course). The fact that he appears unbothered by Brittany’s close inspection of his physique irritates Lapointe immensely and when the guy puts his hand around her waist and tugs her to him a little possessively, Scott shrugs his reply and grabs two glasses of champagne from the waiter, handing one over to Tess. As she takes the stem, his finger closes over hers and he smiles.

 _Stay with me kiddo_ , he thinks. _We’re almost through._

“Are you a figure skater too, Tessa?” Brittany asks.

“Yes,” Tessa replies, and Scott has to marvel at how steady her voice is. “Retired. Scott and I coach at Gadbois.”

Scott snorts into his drink.

_Scott and I._

_Lapointe must be gagging._

“Is that how you two met?” Brittany asks, clearly interested but seriously unaware of the steam coming off the back of her fiancé’s head.

Tessa – for her part – takes hold of Scott’s hand and leans her head briefly against his shoulder.

“No,” she replies. “We’ve known each other since we were children actually, but we reunited at Gadbois not too long ago, now and – well – things just kind of happened from there.”

Scott turns to her and grins, the only output he can have for his glee right now. She smiles back at him, looking every bit a woman in love, and he has to try and remind himself that this is all a pretense and that tomorrow, they’ll go back to the status quo of sarcastic quips and pushing each other’s buttons.

“A real-life fairy tale!” Brittany says, turning towards Todd. “Isn’t that wonderful! Just like us!”

 _Yeah. Twenty-one years. Two weeks. That’s the same_ , Scott thinks.

Scott pulls Tessa a little tighter into his side and he can feel her surprise as she moves into him, although her face remains perfectly neutral.

He takes that as his cue to get them both the hell out of there and presses his glass against hers.

“Wanna dance, beautiful?” he says.

Tessa smiles.

“Absolutely,” she replies.

“If you’ll excuse us,” Scott says, taking her by the arm and leading her away, dumping both their glasses on the nearest table and leading her out onto the dance floor.

“What was _that_?” she says, as she folds into his dance hold as easily as she would on the ice.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he says, innocently.

“Yes, you do,” she says, giving him a look.

“Hey,” he says. “Don’t look at me like that, you’re supposed to be crazy about me, remember?”

“Mm, yes, you _do_ drive me crazy,” she says.

“I see what you did there,” he says. “But either way, for tonight, both of these work. If _I_ drive you crazy, it’s _supposed_ to be because you’re counting down the minutes until I get you out of that dress – figuratively speaking of course.”

“Uh huh,” she says, dryly.

He smiles, catching sight of Lapointe moving somewhere on the other side of the room, and pulls Tessa in closer, his pelvis brushing against hers.

“And you did that _because_?” she says.

“Because we’re in _love_!” he says. “And we don’t care _who_ knows it!”

He twirls her out and back into his arms, before bringing her close.

“Hint,” he whispers into her ear. “It’s with you.”

“Thanks for that,” she says, following his lead into a waltz. “Could you _be_ more obvious?”

“I imagine I could,” he says. “But then the game would be up, and I wouldn’t get to spend this quality time with you.”

* * *

  
He comes out of the bathroom to find her standing by the balcony doors, looking out into the night.

“Hey,” he says, coming up behind her and resting his hands gently against her hips.

She looks down at his touch, clearly finding it odd that he would do so of his own accord.

“You okay?” he asks.

“I’m just…” she searches for the words and shakes her head.

“Hey,” he says, taking her by the hand and moving her somewhere a little less crowded. “What’s up?”

She turns to look at him, her eyes a little brighter than they were before.

He cups her chin, suddenly, surprising them both.

“You’re not going to cry, are you?” he says, with a small, teasing smile. “ _Tessa Virtue_ doesn’t cry.”

She laughs at that, the movement of her eyelashes causing a lone tear to stray down her cheek.

He catches it neatly as it nears her chin.

“I thought… I thought this would be easier than it is,” she says.

“I know,” he replies. “But you’re doing fine, T, and you’ve definitely – _definitely_ – turned every eye in the room tonight.”

She smiles, shyly, that little head duck of hers coming back to haunt him.

“It’s true!” he says. “Even _I_ was jealous!”

She laughs, swiping her hand against his chest, before tucking the top of her head beneath his chin. She’s back up and looking at him within seconds but he still doesn’t know what to do with that. It was unexpectedly intimate, and he thinks maybe – just maybe – this was a game they played so well because it allowed them to say all the things they couldn’t - and feel all the ways they daren’t.

Her shoulders stiffen, suddenly, and he doesn’t have to look behind him to know that Lapointe is around. They’d been in the washroom together, Scott doing his level best not to deck the guy when he made an off-handed comment about how he always did like Todd’s leftovers.

He knows he could tell her this, he could tell her his other insinuations as well, but it would serve no purpose other than to hurt her and he didn’t want to be _that_ guy. True, they may not always get along, but in their own way this thing they had between them was theirs and theirs alone – and he wasn’t about to interrupt that flow by telling her just how much his presence bothered Todd Lapointe. Instead, he was going to do the one thing he knows would piss the guy off entirely whilst still being within the realm of his purview tonight.

“Hey,” he says, gently, reaching out to trail a finger down her cheek.

She blinks up at him and when he moves closer, she doesn’t pull away, allowing his lips to find hers. Pressing up onto the balls of her feet, her hands find the back of his neck, drawing him closer. He runs his fingers through her hair, before bringing his hands either side of her face, increasing the intensity and deepening their kiss. Time slows down and by the time they break away from each other, panting and breathless, Todd Lapointe is gone.

* * *

  
He walks her to her door, standing there with his hands in his pockets while he waits for her to find her keys.

There’s a click of the latch and the door swings widely, her apartment – a mirror of his own (though perhaps, a little neater) – laid out before them.

She turns back to him – almost shyly – like she doesn’t know what to do with the fact that he’s still standing there in front of her.

He smiles puckishly, his tell-tale self starting to emerge out of his shell.

She gives him a look and he laughs, raising his palms in the air.

“I didn’t do anything!” he says.

“Sure, buddy,” he says. “Like you weren’t thinking about trying it anyway.”

He grins, and she smacks his arm, which only makes him laugh more.

“Stop it!” she says, giggling a little.

“ _Again_ ,” he says. “ _Didn’t_ do anything, but keep on trying to touch me there, Virtch. If _anyone’s_ mind is reaching right now, it’s _yours_.”

“Oh my _God_ ,” she says, with a laugh. “ _You_ were the one trying to kiss me back there!”

“Hey,” he says. “ _I_ was lips, _you_ were tongue!”

She pushes him gently, her head dropping forward with continuing laughter.

He takes the moment to step right into her space and he can feel the instant the movement sobers her up. She looks at him, taking a step back into the wall when she finds him too close, her chest rising and falling with rapid succession. He smiles and thinks, in any other life, this might be a shot he would have taken.

Scott leans forward, lowering his head and pressing his lips softly to her temple, before moving slowly to brush them gently against her ear.

“Told you I could get a lot done with clothes _on_ ,” he whispers.

He pulls back, completely unsurprised by the way she folds her arms across her chest and lowers her eyes at him.

“Goodnight, Moir,” she says.

Scott grins.

“Goodnight, Tess,” he replies.

He let’s himself into his apartment, aware that she’s watching him go, and Scott shuts the door behind him, letting out the longest breath he thinks he’s ever held. Unable to resist, he turns back, pressing his eye to the peephole to see if she was still there.

She was.

She’s standing with her back against the wall, one hand holding her chest, a tell-tale flush to her cheeks and the barest hint of a smile.

 _Oh yeah,_ he thinks, _a hell of a lot._

 


End file.
